


the coolness of her smile

by InsolitaParvaPuella



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypersensitivity, Masturbation, Mud, Overstimulation, Pining, Post-Canon, Sex Pollen, Spoilers for Ashe and Ingrid's Paired Ending in Blue Lions Route, Sweat, Whump, these kids are covered in gunk sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsolitaParvaPuella/pseuds/InsolitaParvaPuella
Summary: "His body resonated to her voice. His spine rattled and sent shockwaves through his body. Everything she said was a fragment of pleasure that left him waiting for more. He was starving for her voice."Ashe gets bitten by something and has a very bad time. Ingrid does her best to help.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	the coolness of her smile

**Author's Note:**

> what's up this fic stole its title from the ee cummings poem "i have found what you are like".
> 
> also this fic is just me whumping ashe and using my favourite dubcon trope, sex pollen, for fun. doesn't sound like fun to you? feel free to step out. note the tags, wash your hands, and have fun!

“When we get back, I’m going to get certification to ride wyverns,” Ashe said, more to himself than to Ingrid. He pulled his leg up from a particularly sticky patch of foul-smelling muck and trudged forward a little farther.

“When I get back I’m going to get a battalion of cartographers and we’ll map every centimeter of this Goddess-damned land,” Ingrid answered, shuffling ahead in the watery mud. It came up to both their thighs and had slowed what was meant to be a quick trip to the old Nuvelle lands to send a message into an exhausting slog. They had been travelling with King Dimitri on a long tour around the Kingdom, until he sent them on their little chore. It was no problem, they had reassured their king. The schedule was well-known to both of them and they could rejoin him easily once they were completed. 

More worrying in the moment was the late afternoon sunshine that had been blazing down on them for hours now. Ashe and Ingrid had donned hoods earlier in the day to prevent burns (and even then Ashe was certain his freckles were going to be darker for weeks after this), but the heat was still intolerable. Up ahead there was a hill and a bluff of trees that looked like it might support their weight and let them rest without sinking under the muck. The potential of shade alone had drawn them forward.

Their map had shown no indication that this land was a swamp. Even if there was no major road through it, it should have been traversable. But then, civilian mapmaking had been severely limited during the war, and not enough time had passed for the cartographers to discover what had changed. Ashe made a mental note to himself to write the Royal Academy about this new swamp. 

“Since we discovered the swamp, we should name it,” Ashe said, trying to find anything to take his mind off the smell.

“I don’t think my ego could tolerate people associating this stench to me, so the Ingrid Swamp is out of the question,” she said, clearly trying to play this game.

Ashe chuckled. “I see what you mean. And the Ashe Swamp does sound a little bit gloomy, doesn’t it?”

“And Constance would kill us both if we called this Swamp Nuvelle,” Ingrid said. Ashe laughed at the thought of Constance’s outrage, but then a sharp pain pierced his lower leg. Something in the muck had attacked him. He gasped and stumbled and Ingrid sloshed to his side to catch him before he could slip under the mud. The sudden pain eased slightly as shock settled on his body, but now his leg burned and itched. If he’d been bitten by some animal that somehow lived in the mud this could easily be a toxic bite.He needed to be out of the muck as soon as possible, before too much muck could infect the wound.

Feeling panic flood his body, he leaned into Ingrid for a moment. She stayed steady and held him up. “Something bit me,” he told her, trying to keep his voice even. “It’s burning.”

“Don’t panic. We’ll get to land and look at it,” Ingrid said, sounding calm though her fingertips pressed hard into his shoulder.

Together, fueled by worry, they heaved themselves through the muck, Ingrid nearly pulling him along as they neared the hill. The burning, itching feeling crawled under Ashe’s skin, spreading up his body. The ground got firmer under them, and Ashe nearly rolled his good ankle on a large, round stone. The stumble pulled Ingrid down momentarily. She put one arm tight around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulders and she half-carried him up the hill. The ground was soft and damp, but there was grass to keep the dirt from slipping out under their feet, and it supported their weight without sinking. It would be good enough.

She settled Ashe down on the ground and together they stripped off his boots and trousers, wiping the muck away with a corner of his cloak and some of her canteen water until the wound was clean enough. Ingrid examined the bite carefully. The angle was awkward, but Ashe could see the pink, inflamed skin surrounding the bite—it had to be a bite if it struck and vanished so quickly, Ashe reasoned. It was still oozing blood, but the puncture itself seemed to be small and clotting quickly. The real problem was the chance the bite was venomous. 

Neither he nor Ingrid had a natural inclination for the healing magic that could wash poison from the body, though in their school days the Professor had insisted everyone learn the basics of white magic healing, even if they couldn’t employ it on the battlefield. They carried antidote, of course, but the antidotes they carried were meant to counteract the types of poisons commonly smeared on weapons or caused by magic. There was no way to know if it was safe to use against a natural venom from an unseen creature, and taking antidote without a poison to neutralise could get him sicker than they started.

Still, Ingrid did the only thing she could. She raised her hand over Ashe’s chest and the soft light of white magic seeped from her fingertips. The magic sped up the wound’s healing and eased the pain in his ankle, mild though it was. If the poison was eating through his body the healing magic would at least delay the damage it did. But his body still felt hot and itchy and every stitch of clothing felt like it was chafing his skin. It was distracting; every sensation in his body was amplified to the point of discomfort. Nothing hurt after Ingrid’s healing spell, but this felt as near to pain as anything else.

“Ashe, you have to tell me how you’re feeling,” Ingrid said, insistently. He must have missed her first words.

“It doesn’t feel great,” Ashe confessed. “Too hot, everything itches, and my skin is sensitive.”

“I’m going to set up a tent,” she said, “and then I’m going to get us some clean water. You’re going to lie down and call for me if you feel worse.”

“Yes sir,” Ashe said, trying to smile at her. But the sunshine was much too bright to be comfortable, and he probably wound up scrunching his whole face unpleasantly instead. The sun was low in the sky, he couldn’t see it unless he turned his head, but he could’ve sworn it was getting brighter. He rolled to his side away from the sunshine and listened carefully to Ingrid. He could visualise her very clearly, how she would be tying a length of rope around trees and draping their canvas over the rope. The thick fabric was noisy, and Ingrid occasionally grunted in exertion as she pinned the corners down with stones or their packs so it would provide some semblance of shelter. The sounds of branches being snapped and more sounds of fabric, Ashe assumed Ingrid was laying out their bedrolls on a mattress of branches, to keep the earth from sapping away their warmth when they slept. 

She tended to have a look of deep focus as she worked, something Ashe admired greatly. His imagination painted her in intimate detail while his eyes fluttered shut. He wasn’t quite imagining her as she was in this moment, filthy and overheated, worry for his own sake creasing her brow. He was remembering, to his own surprise, the day she was knighted. She’d been dressed beautifully, of course, but what he remembered clearest was how she had tried to hide her joy under a serious look, hoping to honour the solemnity of the event. She’d bowed her head and received the title she’d wanted her whole life. Then, when she stood he had seen her wearing her dignity and pride better even than their king. 

It had been a breathtaking, dazzling moment for Ashe. Years of admiration and infatuation had seeded the ground and in that instance, the first buds of love had opened. His chest felt tight and his face warm. He didn’t often think of his feelings for Ingrid, as plainly obvious they were to him, out of respect for her as a comrade-in-arms. He raised an arm and hid the side of his face from the sun, hoping his flushed cheeks weren’t too obvious. He wiggled his toes and was abruptly reminded that he wasn’t wearing anything below his hips except his undergarments. Occasionally, he’d dreamt about something a little like this, and his heart pounded faster at the thought.

“Ashe, are you still awake?” Ingrid asked, sounding much nearer than he’d expected. 

“Yeah,” Ashe said, trying to keep his voice relaxed.

“I’m going to move you to the shelter so you don’t get sunburned,” she said, and before getting an answer she started heaving him to his feet. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Ingrid was hardly handling him roughly, but he felt as though he was made of lace and glass. One wrong move would break him completely. Ashe helped get to his feet as best as he could, but he couldn’t quite open his eyes and followed Ingrid’s lead. She guided him down onto his bedroll, sweeping his cloak over his bare legs. The fabric itched and chafed against his bare legs.

Her cool fingertips brushed over his brow and he attempted to open his eyes. His vision was a little blurry, but he could see Ingrid leaning close over him, examining him. He felt awful; filthy and sweaty and red-faced and everything itched. He could feel every thread of his cloak rub against his legs with every twitch of a muscle. He hated it. He wanted to tear off every stitch of fabric and be submerged in cold water.

But Ingrid’s expression was serious and kind. She swept his bangs from his forehead and her touch was firm, so much so it felt like lightning trailing where she touched him. He felt powerfully, inexplicably hungry for something. He wanted to drink sweet water off her fingertips. She kept her voice soft and soothing and he strained to hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. She left, going to boil and filter water. The sun was beginning its downward descent and there was no way they would be reaching their destination today. Time to prepare for a night in the wilderness.

They had some small provisions, and as long as the weather stayed clear they would have no trouble staying the night, even if it was somewhat uncomfortable. Ashe tried to keep his mind on logistics. They did not have spare clothes, so there would be no escape from their mud-soaked trousers and boots. He wondered briefly if Ingrid would be sleeping in the same tent as him. He felt like a furnace and dreaded the thought of a warm body by his side, but he grew unbearably excited at the thought of her sleeping by his side. That was a stupid thing to think, he scolded himself. He and Ingrid had been in close quarters plenty of times, even huddling together in the ice-cold library in Garreg Mach in their school days. There was nothing to be excited about. 

He tried to pry his eyes open. The sun was still setting and everything was beginning to turn to gold. Time was slipping away from him every time he got lost in thought. From his awkward angle he could see Ingrid nurturing a fire and occasionally stirring a small pot suspended over the flames. The muslin she’d used to filter the water was drying on a string suspended from tree branches. At some point she’d taken off her trousers, but not her boots.

Ashe closed his eyes again. His body was unbearably hot. He thought he might have a fever or heatstroke and began struggling out of his clothing. He sat up and managed to blindly strip of everything but his undergarment and the cloak protecting his modesty. He could feel sweat drying on his skin and the heat radiating away from his body, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

He bundled up his clothes and tried to make them into a more plush pillow. They smelled awful, but they were better than nothing, and the fabric pulled sweat from his cheeks. He thought of Ingrid’s legs again. He wanted very much to think of nothing but her legs. The perfect shape of her calves, the fine hairs that ran down them, the way her skin looked so soft in the golden, dying sunlight. His memory glossed over the dirt left behind by the swamp water. He had only seen so much at his awkward angle, but his imagination was happy to supply the rest. During the war she had often worn heavy leggings, meant for pegasus riding, rather than trousers of a heavier fabric or armour. The leggings clung tight to her thighs, and the necessary split in the back of her short tunic had made it easy to see her backside. His mind supplied an educated guess of how her legs looked, going all the way up. He’d never really thought of it before, was shocked by how powerfully appealing it was.

During the war, there had been little time to think of anything but survival. Even during his rare erotic dreams, they had been of failed last stands, where they were in a race against death to finally, _finally_ be together. And after the war he’d had other fantasies to occupy himself with, once the nightmares had ceased. 

Good fantasies, too. He liked to imagine a time where he could come up from behind Ingrid and pull her tight to his chest and kiss her neck and slide fingers down those tight leggings. Maybe one day putting his lockpicking to use again and break into her room for a rendezvous. 

Now he imagined her gorgeous legs draped over his shoulders and gasped. His cock pulsed and Ashe needed something. Anything. He’d been growing hard for a while, slowly. Managing to partially hide it from Ingrid. He rolled to his side again, hoping his erection was hidden under the cloak. His skin burned. He could feel heat burning behind his eyes, forcing tears out. 

“Ashe?” Ingrid called out, and he wasn’t sure if she was running towards him or if it was his heart pounding. “Ashe, are you in pain?” she asked, sounding nearer and frantic.

Ashe gasped, trying to catch his breath and call forward any thought that wasn’t her legs, now within reach if only he opened his eyes. “No,” he finally said. “No pain. It’s the heat, it’s so much worse. Everything is worse.”

There was the usually-gentle sensation of white magic pouring down on him, but it felt like it was torrenting through him. He sucked in a sharp gasp. It didn’t hurt. White magic was soft and cool and soothing under normal circumstances. It could never cause him pain. But at the moment, the only comforting sensation he could imagine was oblivion. 

The magic vanished, having done nothing. There was no damage to mend, it seemed. There was nothing wrong with his body except for how extreme everything felt. Ingrid said something but he couldn’t hear anything but the tone of her voice over the roar of his blood. For a hundred short, ragged breaths he was certain he was alone. Then there was sound very near his ear; she was back by his side.

Her hand slid under his neck and pressed firmly to the back of it. Sensation that might have once been pleasure, amplified until it was nothing but noise, raced down his spine. His cock jerked, his body spasmed and Ingrid’s hand vanished. A moan so loud and sudden it must have sounded like pain ripped past his vocal cords. 

“Ingrid!” he cried out. He sucked in air between his teeth. He wanted her to touch him again and couldn’t bear the thought of the sensation. He wanted to say her name again and bit his tongue instead. He tasted blood in his mouth but he wasn’t sure why. Nothing hurt, but his entire body was saturated in meaningless, overwhelming sensation. His muscles strained against himself.

“Ashe, I’m right here. I was trying to give you water,” she said, and Ashe heard her distantly. Her voice was as soft and calm as before. He tried pushing himself to sit up once more. His arms and core trembled, but he stayed upright and opened his eyes. The tent was illuminated by the final, red beams of light before the sun went below the horizon. Even in the red-gold light Ingrid looked pale and her worry was obvious. She was kneeling in front of him and offered him a cup. Ashe drank the hot water and could swear he could taste every vile creature that lived in the swamp. He nearly spat it out, but managed to swallow and hand the cup back. The water seemed to swirl uncomfortably in his stomach.

Ingrid met his eyes. Despite the filth and sweat clinging to her, she looked serene and pristine and Ashe felt ashamed and embarrassed at the state he was in. “How can I help you?” she pleaded. A thousand ideas came to mind, each more humiliating than the last. He wanted to be held, wanted to be submerged in cold water, wanted to take his cock in hand and find release. He took in a shuddering breath and looked at the ground. She’d already worked so hard for his comfort. He wanted to tell her that he was fine, that she could prepare dinner and enjoy the sunset. He was terrified that she would believe him.

“Be with me,” he requested instead. His breath was still so heavy. To his surprise, she shuffled her bedroll and knelt on it at the head of his own. She gently guided him down until his hot, sticky cheek rested on her bare thigh. Her skin was so cool and soft that he couldn’t breathe. Then for a moment he was smothered in her scent. His cheek was pressed to her thigh and Ingrid shushed him softly. His cheek was pressed to her thigh and no other thought found room in his mind.

“Better?” Ingrid asked. Ashe squeezed his eyes shut and tears rolled down his face to soak her leg and Ingrid only hummed softly. He said something—yes, her name, some senseless moan—and tried to calm his breathing. All this would pass. If he could fall asleep it would be over before he knew it, and then he could apologise to Ingrid for his weakness.

His cock ached. If he could touch it he was certain the feeling would ease. He might die of overstimulation, but that would be preferable to the burning need to touch himself. 

“Ashe, can I touch your hair?” Ingrid whispered. Now he could hear every word. His body resonated to her voice. His spine rattled and sent shockwaves through his body. Everything she said was a fragment of pleasure that left him waiting for more. He was starving for her voice.

“Plea— _please_ ,” he begged, and braced himself for the touch. Ingrid’s hand brushed almost imperceptibly over his hair, smoothing it. Her fingernail delicately brushed his forehead to sweep his bangs away. His body trembled. Her hands were so careful and gentle that it couldn’t overwhelm him. He could barely feel her touch. This, it seemed, was what his body could stand. She stroked his hair softer than the wind might and he dissolved into mindless pleasure. He sighed and his muscles relaxed. He moaned, softly. Ingrid’s hand continued to brush gently over his hair. He would do anything for her, so long as she touched him like this. He wanted to tell her that this was helping, that her touch was welcome now. All that he managed was to mangle her name, losing it in a blissed-out groan.

Her finger brushed against his ear, her nail scraping the thin skin. It didn’t hurt. But the sensation rocked his entire body, flashing behind his eyelids and choking him. Ashe cried out and came into his braies, gasping frantically. His body was so sensitive, every feeling already more than he could bear, that his orgasm swept through him almost like a wave of calm. But Ashe still felt hot, and though he had come his cock was still hard and demanding more. His heart pounded relentlessly for more, _more, **more**_.

Ingrid had stopped touching his hair. He wanted to hope that she was just worried about him, that she’d panicked when he got loud and was making sure he wasn’t hurt. It didn’t matter what he wanted, though, he was pretty sure Ingrid knew what was happening. Cold, heavy shame sat in his stomach. Ashe tried to curl up into himself, to pull himself off Ingrid’s lap. “I’m sorry—sorry Ingrid, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I want—never—I’m so sorry,” he said. His feverish tears flowed faster. Even now hot stabs of desire jolted through his belly. He didn’t want this, couldn’t stand to think of what he was doing.

“Ashe, shh. Hush, there’s nothing to apologise for,” Ingrid said. Her hand settled as soft as a dream on his hair again. A little shiver of pleasure ran down Ashe’s spine. “What can I do?”

He wanted to kiss her so badly he might die. He wanted her legs on either side of his head and to be smothered until he fainted. He wanted to be forced on his hands and knees and jerked off from behind. He wanted to know how she would feel skin-to-skin and head-to-toe with him. His pulse pounded in his whole body and it felt like it was tearing him from the inside out. He slipped one hand under the cloak, which had twisted and only barely protected his modesty at this point.

“Please, Ingrid. Please, don’t look, let me—don’t look,” he begged. His throat was tight and his voice was rough and painful. His hand was so close to his cock he could feel the heat radiating off it, scorching his palm. “Please, let me, Ingrid. I’m sorry, I need to—ahh!”

Something cool settled over his eyes. Her Goddess-blessed hand eased the fever there. “My eyes are closed, Ashe. Do what you need. This will stay here.”

The shame in his belly was melting as the fires of lust turned white-hot again. He wanted to thank her. It came out as a long, high keen. He tried again and got as far as her name. He thrust into his hand. Cried out her name again. It was a refrain. Take in a jagged breath, cry out her name, take in another, bless her name again. He loved her so dearly that it hurt, the only pain he’d felt since his wound was healed. He’d never be able say her name again without remembering this. He’d live with the regret forever that this was his one night with Ingrid. 

He screamed her name. It was a plea for forgiveness, for help, for her to stay with him when this was over. “Please, Ingrid!” he begged. “Please, I’m sorry, don’t go. Please, _please_ , Ingrid!”

Her fingertips brushed his cheek, gliding through a tear track. His back arched and he pressed his cheek into her thigh and he saw white as he came again. He lost all control of his tongue, cried out again and again as his cock pulsed and come poured onto his belly. His throat ached and every muscle burned. He felt as though he’d been torn open and shown every terrible, secret part of himself. Ingrid’s eyes were closed, but now she knew that he said her name when he pleasured himself. She knew how vulgar and undeserving of her attention he was. How weak he was for giving in to the fire in his blood. 

Orgasm banked the fires in his guts for a moment. He wanted to apologise again. Ingrid was a captive audience to his debasement. He wanted to send her away, but the island of steady land was too small. She’d never escape his voice. And the thought of her leaving made him choke on his terror.

Her hand hadn’t left his face. He was certain her eyes were still closed too, waiting for his permission to see the terrible mess he’d made. He fumbled for the cloak and pulled it over his body to smother the smell and hide the sight of what he’d done. Too little, too late, but he could hope she understood the gesture. 

“Do you feel better? Do you want any water?” Ingrid asked softly. There was a tremor in her soft voice. His heart tore itself in shame. A stupid, tragic accident and his own failure to endure it was hurting her. When he was home in Fhirdiad he’d ask to be sent to the most distant edge of the Kingdom so Ingrid would never have to face him and the memories of this again. After this, he would happily do anything for her to make up for what he’d put her through.

“Water,” he rasped. She warned him that she would open her eyes in a few seconds. Her hand finally left his face and then he heard water sloshing. Ingrid must have brought the pot of water into their tent in case it was needed.

“Can you sit up again?” she asked. He could practically hear her shivering. He tried, but his muscles only shook and burned when he attempted to sit up. He shook his head. Ingrid’s firm hands helped him up and leaned him against her small, sturdy body. She rested his head against her shoulder and let him slouch against her chest. Each touch rippled through his body and stoked the fires in him, but he was too exhausted for the sensations to overtake him the same way. He could feel her face press against his damp hair and wished desperately that he wasn’t like this.

He cracked his eyes open when she asked and she brought the cup to his lips. The water was warm and foul, but it relieved the pain and dryness in his throat. He drank it all and shuddered. The feverish heat was rising in his gut again. He kept his gaze outside, staring into the dimming sky. They were illuminated more by the small fire Ingrid had built than the sun now.

“Thank you,” Ashe said, weak and exhausted and somehow still alive and needing more.

“Has the feeling passed?” Ingrid asked.

Ashe swallowed hard. “It’s better, but it’s not gone yet. Every time I’ve—” he cleared his throat, “ _—finished_ has helped.”

In the dim light of the fire, Ingrid whispered, “How can I help, Ashe?”

His face nearly grew hotter out of embarrassment. He wanted, desperately, to believe she was offering herself. If he asked for her hands or mouth or—Goddess damn him to the flames—more yet, she would almost certainly give it to him. If he asked for it, he would never be able to forgive himself. But she had asked to help, and taken him into her hold, and closed her eyes when he asked. 

“Can I stay like this?” he said. 

Her arm slid under his and she embraced him, squeezing his middle softly. The fabric of her shirt felt like it scraped a layer of filth and skin from his chest. Semen must have smeared on her arm or clothes, but she didn’t pull away.

“Is this alright?” she asked softly. Ashe could feel the heat in his stomach rise at her hold. Her cheek was pressed to his air and her breasts supported his neck and her fingers curled against his belly. He nodded frantically. She whispered, “My eyes are closed. Do whatever you need,” into the darkness.

Desire still gnawed at Ashe, but the heat in his veins was nearly tolerable, and he was certain one final orgasm would quench it. He took his cock, aching and pulsing and somehow distantly numb, in his hand one last time. Come lubricated his hand, but fatigue weighed heavily on him. Touch alone, for the first time, couldn’t be enough. 

He let his mind rest, at last, on Ingrid. Even if he wasn’t racked by poison that incited lust, he would have wanted to be held by her like this. He felt small and safe in her hold. His body ached and his heart beat weary and miserable in his chest, but it didn’t matter. Love for Ingrid filled him completely. A few tears rolled down his damp face again. He could not imagine her wanting to travel with him alone again, could not imagine ever being this vulnerable and intimate with her again. But in his hour of need, Ingrid had willingly held and soothed him. Nothing could be as intimate as this.

He wanted to kiss her. Not because the secret to life lingered between her lips, not because he was starving for touch that he couldn’t stand. He wanted to kiss her because he wanted to adore and worship her. His breaths came in soft, short puffs. The heat in his belly burned and roiled and he still felt the poison beat in his veins, but he felt calm. When his cock began to chafe he paused and spat into his palm. Ingrid held him a little tighter. 

For a moment he could see himself lying on her lap, smiling up at her as she watched him pleasure himself. In this vision he saw her smiling down at him like cool moonlight, wrapping him in serenity and bliss. His third orgasm ached. His body had not been made for any of this, least of all coming three times in short order. He shuddered and groaned and it _hurt_. Every part of him had been wrung dry.

At last, the exhaustion he usually felt after orgasm hit. He was limp in Ingrid’s hold. Sleep took him before she could set him down again.

The next morning Ashe awoke in his bedroll. Though he still reeked of sweat and the swamp and his mouth was dry and tasted of death, his skin felt clean and the bite wound had been properly bandaged. When he rolled over he saw Ingrid, still asleep despite the rising daylight. Something sharp pierced his chest and he started crying. All the feelings that he had nearly drowned in the previous night echoed through his chest again. He felt sick and ashamed and filthy and deeply, miserably in love with Ingrid. Before she awoke he was dressed and preparing them a small breakfast.

They marched to Nuvelle in their filthy clothing, trudging through the swamp for hours before they found dry land and the road. In town they bought new clothes. They went to the town baths and Ashe bought them sweet-scented soap and a long time to soak. His aching body found relief in the warm water, and he stayed until it started to get uncomfortably cool. 

They took rooms at the town’s best inn. Ingrid had hesitated, worried about the expense. Ashe had insisted. After their previous night, she deserved comfort and privacy, both of which the inn could provide. Ingrid was convinced after hearing what would be served for dinner. They went to their rooms and for the first time in ages, Ashe was alone. He emptied his pack and reordered it. The clothes stained with swamp muck needed proper replacements, his cloak needed to be thoroughly scrubbed. He decided all at once that he and Ingrid could rent horses and take the long way to rejoin their party. They’d talk to the locals and get a more accurate map of the region. Maybe there was wyvern transport they could hire to fly them back.

He wanted to talk to Ingrid about it. She would be able to pick the best idea from the bunch and he would follow her lead. But talking to her meant talking to her properly, first. There were a dozen things he could say to her. Apologies owed, thanks for her kindness, assurances that whatever she wanted from him he would happily give her. What he wanted (to give her his heart and trust her to hold it softly) was immaterial. 

They missed each other at dinner. Ashe wasn’t sure if he was relieved or stressed when he couldn’t see her in the dining room. Then, before bed while Ashe was changing his bandages, Ingrid entered his room with two mugs of steaming hot water with lemon, ginger, and honey. She asked if she could come in. He waved her in as he tied off his bandage. They drank in silence for a while. Ashe wanted to speak, but if Ingrid had come then she had something to say. He could wait.

“Yesterday,” she said at last, “was not the best day. But Ashe, it wasn’t your fault. I hate that there wasn’t more I could do. I hate that you suffered. But I’ll never hate you for doing whatever you needed to make it through it.” She turned and met his eyes and smiled a little, sweetly.

Ashe turned back to his drink. The steam rose to meet his face, but it cooled and dried quickly. For the first time since they’d left to make a quick trip to Nuvelle he felt completely clean and well. “I’ll always regret what happened,” he said. “I… had thought…” He stopped. No reason to burden her further. “If you don’t want to work with me after this, I’ll ask His Majesty to send me somewhere else. I’ll go wherever will make you happiest.”

He turned to see Ingrid looking stricken. “Ashe, you shouldn’t… You love serving His Majesty.” He nodded. “Then I want you where you are, where you’re happiest. What happened hurt us both, but I won’t feel better if you’re far away.”

On a foolish, lovesick impulse he cupped her cheek with his free hand and kissed her forehead. He wanted to believe it was a gesture of thanks, and not one last attempt to feel her close.

He pulled back and this time the words came out clearly. “Thank you, Ingrid. For everything.” He adored her and he wanted to tear himself open again, so she could see his love pouring out of him and she could _know_. He gave her a smile instead. 

Ingrid set her empty cup on the floor. “I owe you an apology,” she said suddenly, as though the words had burst from her. “I… You were suffering, and in distress. And I wanted to help you, I did. But I also… Ashe, I _liked_ it. I hate myself for it, and I thought about not telling you. But that’s not fair. You deserve to make the choice, if you want to be around me after that.”

Ashe’s heart pounded in his chest. Part of him was ecstatic; Ingrid wasn’t completely disgusted by him. In better circumstances they could have enjoyed themselves. But the rest of his mind was quiet. He could never hate Ingrid, and she had been perfect. There was no harm if she liked seeing him vulnerable. But he couldn’t be completely happy about it either.

There were a few things he wanted to say. “Stay with me,” was what came out of his mouth. They were sitting so close, and she had turned her face up to him. She smelled sweet and her cheeks were cool and pale. Ashe leaned down, just a little, just enough that his intentions were obvious. Ingrid didn’t pull back. She rose, meeting him halfway. Her lips were soft and sweet like ginger and honey. Ashe’s breath shuddered. His hands rose and fell, fighting the urge to pull her on top of him.

He kissed her back gently. There was no heat in the moment, only a warm calm. He pulled away and saw Ingrid’s eyes flutter open. His heart ached to see her like this, but it was a good ache.

“You should sleep,” Ingrid said, smiling. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for breakfast.” She stood and Ashe stood as well. She took the mugs and left, peering through the closing door to give him one last smile.

Ashe flopped into bed and blew out the candles. The cool moonlight lit up the room regardless. Beaming, he scrubbed moisture from his eyes and basked in the joy and light filling him, spilling from his mouth in a few bursts of disbelieving laughter.


End file.
